Friday, 11 March 2011

Just as all good runs come to an end, the same logic could equally be applied to bad ones. Charlton are due a performance: Charlton fans are most certainly owed one.

What we want is one of those bright Saturday afternoons where, from out of nowhere, it all clicks into place and we absolutely hammer the opposition. The goals fly in and the buzzing Valley crowd are unified in delirium, singing the name of our much-loved leader sat in the Director's Box like a naughty school boy, grinning from ear to ear.

In my mind I can see it...clear as anything: Francis finally completes a pass to a teamate, Llera and Dailly look like they can 'speaka de samea language', Semedo and Racon manage to control the ball first time (without it hitting their chins in the process), Reidy and Waggy are whipping in vicious balls for fun and BWF is growing ever bored of converting them. Not least of all, young Jenkinson gets to taste victory at last, crowning his big day by bagging the 9th and final goal of the afternoon with a 85 yard screamer with his left foot.

Come Monday, we'll all be writing that our season is back on track and Brighton is now our target.

Wednesday, 9 March 2011

Following the theme from Charlton Casual, I too have chosen a Smiths song title to best sum up how I feel at present. It perhaps says an awful lot that one of the most commonly accepted depressing bands of all time seem to fit quite comfortably with the current mood of an Addick.

I don't ask for much, but I feel massively let down at present. Last nights all-too-painfully predictable defeat leaves us 10 points off the Play-Off places and with absolutely no sign whatsoever that our form will spark in to life, I think it's fair to say that's it...season over. Totally unacceptable! Given the balmy Spring-like afternoon sunshine, I got frighteningly close to going to the game last night. God only knows why! So close, in fact, I made my decision not to go stood by the front door with my car keys in my hand. My missus couldn't believe it but after a tough day at work I just could put myself through the disappointment. My resolve is weakening. Instead I had a game of football in the front room with my 4 year old son, who was dressed head to toe in a Charlton away strip (he has football club on a Tuesday).

Perhaps the sentimentality of Powell returning did get the better of me. I'm pretty embarrassed by it all really, if I'm honest. I don't do that jingoistic nonsense normally, but I think I got sucked in this time, such is my admiration for Powell. Whatever he's asking of the players they are simply not capable of doing: not technically good enough. Whatever naivety Powell has tactically is, in part, understandable given his managerial experience, but to see the team take huge strides backwards has really shocked me (after all, it wasn't like it was hugely convincing before). But let me make it perfectly clear that I am not about to join any fledgling groups calling for Powell's sacking. No, we've made our bed and we must lay in it.

Early March and Charlton are confirmed as a mid-table Division 3 side. Brilliant! I can't wait for Saturday...

And all on a day when my season ticket renewal form dropped on my letter box. It remains un-opened. Through the cellophane I can see the words 'Back To The Future' beneath Powell's massive grin. It may well have just said 'Backwards'. Like a total and utter mug I will renew, no question. Hundreds of other existing season ticket holders won't have my loyalty/stupidity (delete as required) and the matchday gates will continue to fall. But the tipping point of my patience is - for the first time in the 17 years I've regularly watched the Addicks - just visible in the far off distance.

How I fear it getting closer...

But in life you need to have a perspective, and today's date, March the 9th, will forever offer a real leveller to me when considering the woes noted above. I will reveal more in a post later this evening...

Thursday, 3 March 2011

Sometimes I do have to remind myself that following Charlton is optional. If I want to, I could claim not to support anyone anymore, disassociate myself from football altogether and find something 'better' to do with my time. Even I know deep in my heart that it is beyond any sensible reasoning that something that (by and large) continually makes me so belly-achingly unhappy still deserves my continued and unconditional support, let alone a priority status up there with my wife and two kids! I have wondered many times what my life would be like without Charlton and, rather bizarrely, the balance is still tipped in favour of the Addicks...but I couldn't explain why. It's likely I just don't want to face up to a question like that. The problem is, it's all or nothing. If Charlton are at home, I go, simple as that. There is no picking and choosing a dozen fixtures a season: no 'dipping in and out'. It's not the way I do things.

Loyal or just simply stupid? My Mum would say loyal (but then my sentimentality comes from her, so I guess I would) but nobody else I know would be as easily convinced or care. I feel genuinely embarrassed that my wife, who used to love football, has long-since given up trying to understand my Addicktion. When I get home after a game she doesn't even ask how we got on anymore. It's almost like it's a taboo subject in case it stirs me into some sort of uncontrollable rage! So if it is that commendable trait 'loyalty', what do I get in return? Moments of magic are painfully infrequent and so often based on momentary delirium rather than long-term happiness. Granted, I've had magic moments that will live with me forever, but the periods of despair seem to resonate deeper. But before I'm accused of being delusional, I don't expect the earth: I no longer dream of a return to the Premiership. I've said a few times in past postings that what I crave more than anything is a season of mid-table mediocrity, just so long as it's in the Championship. And that's the point, Charlton should be one of the bigger 2nd tier football clubs that may occasionally delve into the top flight for a season or two when a particularly encouraging group of players come together. I'll confess that 3rd tier football is slowly breaking my heart. I just want it to go away.

It is certainly tough being an Addick.

When Charlton emerge from the tunnel on a matchday I have, for as long as I can remember, followed a forced habit that my delusional mind no doubt believes may bring us good luck. I will sing aloud to the sounds of the 'Red, Red, Robin', follow the captain (it must be the captain) for his first few steps before glancing up at the big Charlton badge that overlooks the stadium atop the West Stand. When that lump stops forming in my throat during this process I know I've taken as much as I can...